


Disasterous

by nebulaethereal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abduction, Action/Adventure, Angst, Blades, Blood and Injury, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Escape, Family Loss, Forgiveness, Good Draco Malfoy, Healing, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, Horcruxes, Loss of Innocence, Malfoy Manor, Mutual Pining, Redemption, Runes, Severus Snape Lives, Sex, Slow Burn, The Burrow (Harry Potter), Touch-Starved, Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter), Veritaserum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 20:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17835761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulaethereal/pseuds/nebulaethereal
Summary: When Hermione ends up at Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix senses Draco's hesitance, and insists he be the one to torture her in front of the crowd of Deatheaters. He decides that she has to die to redeem himself to the Dark Lord.If only he weren't such an utter failure.*Rated E for later chapters, violence and smut.





	Disasterous

Draco had succeeded, and Harry Potter and Ron were safe—or as safe as they could be in the Malfoy Dungeon.

But he was a failure. When Bellatrix was inquiring as to who the girl was, with too-dark hair and glamoured features, he faltered.

He didn’t know how it was so easy to lie about Harry Potter, the bloody Boy who bloody Lived, and his buffoon of a friend, and couldn’t do the same for Granger.

Somewhere inside, he knew, things were much more dangerous for her here. Harry Potter would at least be kept alive long enough to be killed by Voldemort—long enough to figure out an escape (which Malfoy was sure he was working on currently). Weasley was at least pure-blood, however a traitor, and there weren’t enough of them around these days, in the eyes of Voldemort.

But Granger was a well-known muggle-born. That kind of blood-status was one Death-eaters enjoyed hunting, torturing, and toying with in a myriad of other ways.

So, when Bellatrix asked “Is this the mud-blood, nephew?”

He was silent.

She peered into him, noticing his hesitance lasting longer than a beat.

“Draco… Is this her?” Bella cooed, Hermione’s hair bunched in his aunt’s fist.

“Sorry, erm, no… I don’t know her.” He finally choked out.

But the time had passed, and Bellatrix decided to find out herself.

With a fast swipe, Bellatrix’ blade cut into Hermione’s hand, to which the young witch hissed loudly, writhing in the woman’s grasp.

Bellatrix inspected how Hermione’s blood mingled with the runes of the blade, and her eyes grew livid as they landed on Draco.

"It seems, nephew, that you were mistaken."

His silence pierced the void as he stared nervously at his aunt. His sweaty palms gripped at his robes, but he did his best to maintain his composure.

“She must have some glamour on, I don’t recognize her.” He insisted, his lies flowing easily once more, as they usually did.

Hermione’s heart sank as her blood dripped from her fist.

A binding spell was thrown onto her, and she lay on the cold floor like a Vitruvian man.

“Oh, my dear nephew, that’s quite alright. Pesky mudbloods certainly know some tricks, don’t they… Very well. What would you like to do with her?” Bellatrix asked casually.

“I… Well I’m sure I’m already quite bored with the witch, she’s nothing.” He scoffed, refusing to look at Hermione, but eyes unable to remain steady on his aunt.

“Well, I know you’ve nothing better to do.” Bellatrix flipped her blade, hilt-first, toward Draco to hand it over. “How about you entertain me, then.”

His eyes darted to his parents, whose expressions were desperate, since their family-standing was in question in the eyes of the Dark Lord.

He had failed them. He had failed the Dark Lord, which meant that his family was lucky to still be alive.

Draco took the blade easily, and coolly shrugged off his dress robes to reveal his button-up shirt and vest. He began rolling his sleeves up, fully committing to this request.

He couldn’t afford not to. He couldn’t kill Dumbledore.

So he’d have to kill Granger.

 

* * *

 

Bellatrix conjured up some wine and a seat—and nearly a dozen others followed suit around the room. Apparently they were all interested in some ‘entertainment’.

He had never been part of these kinds of events, since his parents insisted he study other subjects for the time being.

But, apparently the time had come. And he felt such self-loathing as he approached Granger on the floor that he nearly pitied himself more than her--until she started talking.

She spoke just under her breath, the din of light conversation and cutlery clinking making it hard for anyone but him to hear.

“I’m not entirely surprised it’s you doing this, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped of resignation, however the fire in her eyes had not gone out the least bit.

He said nothing in return, and merely crouched down the grab a chunk of her hair and lop it off at the mid-strand, completely butchering her long curls.

He held them up as if a prize. This elicited polite applause.

Bellatrix sat there scrutinizing him.

He huffed, throwing the hair back into Hermione’s face and reaching for more hair, lopping the entire lengths off in rough, awful chunks. She had a choppy fro, from what was left.

He put on his best sneer as a few people laughed jovially at her misfortune. He couldn’t seem to hold the sneer long, though.

“Ohhh, lovely, Nephew! Now, get on with bleeding the beast.” Bellatrix spoke between bites of some delicate finger-sandwiches.

“Of course, Auntie. I just know how much she loved her hair… I knew it would cut deep.” He glared at Hermione, who just sat there rather startled but refused to put on much of a show.

As his blood pressure began to rise, he reached down to Hermione’s injured hand and knelt on it, forcing blood to begin to pool on the floor lazily. She groaned, writhing a bit at this pressure. “Get OFF, Malfoy!” She shouted, writhing beneath unseen bonds.

The crowd gasped at the audacity of this witch to speak to a Deatheater, however fledgling, in such a way.

His eyes darted around desperately, and in a fit of embarrassment and rage, he backhanded the bound witch with his rather delicate hand. They both gasped out.

He had never been in many fights. He didn’t have the hands for it.

Gripping his stunned hand, his ego swelled again as the crowd applauded. He stood, turning about the room with a grin.

Once he faced Hermione again, he was taken aback by her fiery glare. He could tell she was plotting.

She was always two steps ahead… and he was too scared to move most of the time.

But not tonight. Fear fueled him, in fact.

He came down to her quickly, straddling her and fishing out the dagger. Bellatrix took notice and leaned forward. A slight hush overcame the room as he brought the blade to the corner of Hermione’s mouth. Her stare froze, while her parted lips trembled to avoid the enchanted metal.

“Not so chatty now, are you, filthy half-breed!” He whispered loudly, before shoving her hard and moving the blade to her cheek. He merely rested the blade there, grinning to the room and basking in the glow of putting on a show. His trembling hand was only visible to Hermione, who was beginning to wonder how much of his heart was in this.

Twitching muscles jerked the impossibly sharp blade, and he heard her let out a shout as the blade bit into her soft cheek. She turned away, only for it to nick her ear in return. A louder shout was heard.

He jerked his hand away, as if he’d just stepped on the dog’s tail. She wasn’t even bleeding much… why did she let out such a shout?

She caught his eye, and her features fell slightly, before she began to over-zealously groan and writhe about. The crowd clapped, and returned to their foods.

But Bellatrix was unimpressed.

“Nephew, she’s got a lovely mouth, doesn’t she? Make it bleed.” She breathed, smiling over at him with a wink.

Scrambling for an idea as to how, he looked down at Hermione’s face and gripped her jaw with one hand, holding the dagger overhead as if he was an artist, debating on which stroke to make.

His eyes searched hers cautiously. She maintained her writhing, and then bit so harshly into her lip that it began to gush blood. He was close enough to see the reflexive tears prick at her eyes.

He almost gasped, before gathering himself and quickly feigning a slice at her lips and cackling.

“Not such a pretty mouth anymore…” He turned Hermione’s head side to side, revealing the blood covering her teeth and chin.

Confusion was threatening to overwhelm him. Why was she doing this?

He couldn’t stop to think.

A door opened, and everyone turned to see Voldemort himself enter, and seat himself in one of the nearest chairs, just next to his parents.

Everyone exchanged looks, while Voldemort looked deep in thought—barely paying attention.

This was his chance, thought Draco. His chance to prove himself.

Hermione had helped this much… could she possibly finish herself off for his sake?

He chuckled inwardly at the stupid thought.

She didn’t deserve any of this. Much less what she was about to endure. But surely she knew what was at stake.

Bellatrix was just over his shoulder.

“Draco… show the Dark Lord what you’re made of…” She whispered, toying with her nephew’s hair.

“But first…” Bellatrix leaned in to whisper something into Draco’s ear that made his features grow slack as he maintained eye contact with Hermione. Their secret moment soon breaking as Draco tore away.

With a tense-set jaw, he moved off of her with a kind of solemn determination.

Hermione watched as he came to hover over her right forearm.

He looked as if he were about to pray.

With a quick glance in her direction, he gave a cryptic nod of apology, before he leaned forward and began using the dagger as a pen, and sent a fiery swell of pain throughout Hermione’s arm, which reverberated through her body.

However bound, she struggled in such a way that he had to pin her arm down harshly. He felt his breath lurching. He begged that the Dark Lord would see.

He begged that the hair falling into his face obscured his agonized expression. He had to pretend, in every way, that her soft flesh was merely parchment, and he was writing a note to his school-mates.

He could hardly see the letters are first—but something about the blade helped that. As if from within her, the wounds were bright red, at times as white as flames.

“M-U-D-B-L…”

His lettering was crude, as his hands shook and his breathing became erratic.

However brave he thought Hermione to be, she was near wits-end. She could hardly move, her words were useless to any ears in this room, and so she could only scream out. Her screams echoed through the halls and rooms. Owls fled, and people began cheering uproariously.

Then it got worse.

He was on the second “O” when she began to convulse wildly. He jerked away, looking her over. He had done his best to be fast and gentle, so he was utterly confused as to why she’d gotten worse. Then he saw over his shoulder, Bellatrix’ wand pointed at Hermione, with a Crucio leaving wave after wave over the young witch’s form.

He smacked his aunt’s hand, shouting out at her in a fit of fury that sent a few veins in his forehead to bulge. “STOP!”

The crowd was deathly still and quiet. He glanced around, realizing the shock on everyone’s face.

The only sound was Hermione’s pitiful, weakening moans of agony.

Desperately, he tore his hand from Bellatrix’s wrist, and shook his head. “Just… let me finish… don’t you want people to be able to READ it?” He choked out.

His emotions, usually so well-hidden, were beginning to get the better of him.

He could feel the Dark Lord beginning to pry into his mind, when the most terrible crash was heard.

The dungeon door had blown open, and everyone was scrambling to cast spells and stop whoever was escaping.

Harry Potter, finally. Draco cursed the Boy Who Lived for taking so long to escape.

In the frenzy, Draco threw himself ontop of Hermione, and with a snap of his fingers, a house elf appeared.

“Take me to the Forbidden Forest!” He insisted, unbinding Hermione and gripping her huffing form tightly.

A scream from behind was calling out for him: “Draco! You fool!!!” Was heard, along with a ‘whoosh’ of flying objects from all around.

With a crack, they landed on the soft mud of the Forbidden Forest, mere hours before dusk.

Checking his surroundings, and confused by his choice of location, he gathered his bearings. With a huff of relief, he sat back on his heels and took a breath.

Assessing the situation, he looked down at his captor—or… whatever she was.

Something was wrong.

If something could possibly be MORE wrong than what he’d done to her.

But she was barely breathing.

In a panic, he gripped her shoulders and shook her a dozen times before giving up on that method of resuscitation.

Setting her gently back down, he saw the disaster that was her right side. Another one of Bella’s daggers was burrowed between her ribs, most certainly embedded in her lungs.

With a start, she choked out a breath, struggling to open her eyes without shuttering them once again.

He gasped as well, leaning over her and searching her over. “Hold still!” He shouted too-loudly.

He struggled with his pockets, searching for something specific.

Quickly, he brought out a vial of something, and attempted to will it down Hermione’s throat.

In a panic, she became fully alert, and slapped his hand away.

The potion soaked into the ground. He shouted out in anger, right into her face.

The moment that she cowered was what sobered him the most.

 In a quiet, still moment, he could only hear her wheezing.

He was going to kill her… and now, due to his stupidity, she was going to die.

He began to pity himself, per usual.

Why did this have to happen to him?

Bellatrix had seen his stupidity. Surely, she’d be the one to reveal just how inept of a Deatheater Draco was.

“You STUPID boy!” Jerked him out of his crestfallen thoughts. He jerked his head around to see Bellatrix there herself.

“How did you find me!?” He shouted, scrambling to his feet and trying to find his wand.

She pointed hers at him and quickly delivered a crucio as she approached. “Do you really think that I didn’t notice the way you looked at the filthy beast?” She scoffed, kicking her feet.

“I was really hoping you’d be a great Deatheater, Draco… But now…” She was cut off, when a bird flew between them.

Draco made for a run, and fled as quickly as he could muster, but she was ontop of him again and stupefied him into the ground before quickly adding insult to injury by impaling one of her home-made daggers into his scapula. It bit through bone as easily as skin.

He couldn’t breathe. The searing sensation made him feel like cooking meat.

Attempting to find breath, with his face pressed into the mud, she took the opportunity to stand ontop of his back, plant a foot on the back of his head, and scold him further. “I’m disappointed… But you’ll be glad to know that I will not let The Dark Lord find out.” She sighed sadly.

Hope swelled in his chest. The kind of hope that fills too quickly.

His bubble burst.

“But you must die, or bring us all down with you.” She spoke sternly.

“Avada kedavra.”

He heard the curse; the killing curse.

He remembered hearing it.

Time ticked on.

He was pretty sure he wasn’t dead.

The thud of his aunt’s body fell ontop of him, driving the dagger in further.

Numb to more pain, he was in shock, slowly lifting himself to see what had happened.

Hermione Granger stood over them, his wand in hand, pointing it into his face.

“Get up.” She commanded with a wheeze.

They were walking longer than either of them were fit to.

While they trudged, she had the wand aimed at him the entire time. He eyed her cautiously, watching her grip the blade in her side.

He would glance at him caustically, noticing the way he held his right arm, assuming it immobile.

Before too long, she had brought them to Hagrid’s Hut.

With her wand poised, she ordered him to begin brewing a potion that would stem her bleeding and heal herself—however slowly.

To her dismay, Hagrid was still in Azkaban—but he had plenty of things to brew nearly any potion.

Malfoy complied without a word, and without minding the wand pointed at him. That very same wand just killed his aunt.

He wanted to thank Hermione.

But he brewed silently, and deftly.

Hermione would have noticed this if she didn’t keep passing out in the large arm chair.

Every few minutes she would startle herself awake and let out a little groan, refreshed by the reality of the situation.

The potion was done, but needed to steep for an hour before he could add the final ingredient.

He managed this all with one hand—he wondered just how impressed Snape would be to hear about this achievement.

With a slight chuckle, he shook away the thought. They were in the middle of a war… How could he be thinking of such airy concepts as school?

He turned to her. She feigned alertness as she noticed him looking her way.

The blood on her lip still dribbled very slightly, while the cuts on her cheek and arm seemed keen on bleeding endlessly.

“I think her blade was cursed.” He offered carefully.

“I gathered as much myself, thank you.” She stared at him.

“I still have the blade… we can find a counter to the curse if we study it…” He pointed out.

She was silent for a beat, but finally nodded. “Bring it to me.” She leveled her wand with his heart. “Slowly.”

With a nod, he removed the blade from his pocket, and slowly walked it to her, hilt-first.

Once exchanged, he stepped back to lean against the counter and hold his arm in that overly-pitiful way.

“The runes are… obscene. She cursed this with bleeding and fire… It looks like its forged with obsidian…” Hermione went on, merely flipping the blade over in her hands, reading the runes and assessing the materials.

“I suggest we destroy it, the runes are bound to the dagger itself, so that should rid the effects.” She stood up and immediately regretted it.

He took a step—but stopped.

Before she could hex him, she straightened herself and took a step toward the fireplace, forever burning, but not currently hot enough.

She threw the blade in, and proceeded to feed the flames and stoke them until the entire hut was sweltering.

He noticed her shivers, and checked the timing of the potion. He presumed that she wouldn’t last much longer.

“It’s almost done… you should sit down.” He suggested, back turned to her.

“How DARE you tell me what to do?!” She shouted breathlessly, already leaning on a stool for support for her jelly-legs.

“You… The things you did…” She was panting by now, fury burning as hot as the fire, while the color left her features.

He cautiously stepped toward her, potion in hand and final ingredient fizzling into it.

“Just… drink this, okay? You’ve lost a lot of blood… then you can hex me for the rest of the night.” He insisted.

“I shouldn’t even be trusting you to make a potion… venomous viper… slytherine…” As she trailed off she sent a weak stinging jinx at him, before dropping the wand and falling backward off of the stool.

Unable to catch her, he could only quickly prop her up and force the potion down her throat. It was much easier than before, since she’d lost consciousness entirely.

A dread overwhelmed him.

He took her to lay on Hagrid’s too-large bed, and stood nearby to wait.

Surely, the fire would destroy the blade and her bleeding would stop…

Surely, the potion would heal her.

But that blade was still embedded between her ribs.

He’d made too many choices today.

He paced, tugging at his hair and groaning out in pain and frustration.

If he could have only removed the dagger from his own shoulder, that would make things at least a modicum easier.

With one dead arm, and one dead aunt, he sat, staring at the girl he was going to kill.

Nobody knew where they were.

His parents and his fellow Deatheaters… they couldn’t possibly know. Bellatrix was immediately after them. She couldn’t have told the Dark Lord, certainly.

He was trying to calm himself.

And her friends… Potter and Weasley… They didn’t know, did they…

He had time to explain himself. He had time to save her.

He owed her at least that much.

If he hadn’t been so much of a coward, he could have just killed her when he had the chance—then she wouldn’t be suffering in a cold sweat of unconsciousness.

There was a sudden burst in the fireplace, and acrid smoke puffed from the blade.

His eyes shot over to her, and he saw the wounds grow less angry, and begin to slow their bleeding.

Relief began to wash over him, until he realized just how much her side was still bleeding.

He cursed himself—the dagger in her side was the same sort as the one he used to mutilate her.

He swallowed bile, a product of his guilt.

He gently shook her.

No response.

He pat her shoulder. “Granger… I need to take the dagger out…”

She was cold and still, breathing almost reluctantly.

Time was running out, and while he wished he could have both her permission and forgiveness for what he was about to do, there was no time.

He grasped the dagger with his one hand—and forced his second hand to maneuver into place.

With both hands on the hilt, he took a breath (as if it was about to hurt him), and jerked the blade out.

With long, quick strides, he rushed to the fire and threw it deep into the white-hot embers. He didn’t turn around, even though the hut was alive with her screams once again.

Finally, as the blade begin to smolder with her blood, he came back to her side with healing salve, piled it onto a medicinal leaf, and slapped it firmly against the seeping wound at her side.

Her hands gripped his forearm, potentially trying to stop him.

He avoided looking at her… he didn’t deserve that kind of dignity—no matter how much he wished she would forgive him then and there.

But he cheated a glance.

She was staring up at the ceiling in a daze, barely conscious. He could see when the medicinal salve was taking effect, as her breathing slowed.

The bleeding didn’t.

He looked at the fireplace, wishing it would burn faster, and hotter.

Her blood was staining the sheets and his hands.

He’d never clean himself of this night.

He would never be redeemed.

A dull crack came from the fireplace, and that acrid smoke appeared once again.

Almost immediately, she let out a sigh of relief. The burning, bleeding curse was lifted—and the effects of the healing potion were able to begin.

Her grasp went slack on his arm.

“Water…” she spoke in a hushed voice.

With urgency, he went to gather water, and handed it to her. Well—he didn’t so much hand it to her as he helped her hold the glass, sit her up, and assist her in taking some sips.

She almost glared at him, but it held no power.

“Thanks,” was barely heard, as she drank a bit more water off and on, while they ultimately sat in silence until she fell asleep propped upon a huge pillow.

He found himself holding her glass of water, as she’d periodically wake up and request some.

After a while, he felt compelled to remain there, holding her water for hours.

It wasn’t long before the sun inched over the horizon and the Forbidden forest came alive with all new sounds of birds and beasts.

Restless with his thoughts, he was wide-eyed and staring at the floor as he sat there.

He was startled when she woke up and said his name three times before he heard her.

“Malfoy…?”

He jerked a bit, sitting up and handing her water mindlessly.

“No… I’m fine.” She took the glass reluctantly.

“That potion was well done, and good thinking, burning the other dagger.” She commended him, much more alert than he was and seemingly nearly back to normal.

He nodded in thanks, and stood, leaning over the bed slightly to inspect her side and her forearm.

His sneer was the only reaction to the remaining wisps of white that spelled out M-U-D-B-L-O-O.

He stepped back for a moment of self-loathing.

“It’s the least I could do.” He answered dryly—sullenly.

She felt like warmed-over death, but could tell he felt worse. She went to stand up.

He lurched out of his state, ready to brace her with his good arm. “Should you be getting up?” He chided.

“Hush, sit down.” She insisted.

Confused, he sat down. His eyes followed her as she began to circle around her.

“How long have you been bleeding, Malfoy?” Her voice pricked with concern.

Before he could answer, he felt her grasp the dagger embedded in his shoulder blade and let out an over-the-top shout.

“You… can’t… just…” She jerked the blade, and her efforts only tore it halfway out, “…leave this in!”

He wailed, crumpling over the edge of the chair under her efforts.

With a second tug, she yanked the blade out and threw it into the blazing fire.

It didn’t take long before the blade burst and fizzled.

With half of the potion left, she handed it to him, pressing the same salve from the night before onto his gushing shoulder wound.

His huffs of agony subsided after about 30 minutes, while he nursed a bit of fire whiskey, cross-legged on the edge of the chair.

“How are you feeling, Malfoy?” She asked, hinting toward a follow-up question as she toyed with the wand.

“Wish I were dead.” He replied, refusing eye-contact.

“Very well… However—we need to plan our next step. Since you’ve defected, you can’t go back to the Dark Lord. Where will you go?” She asked pointedly.

“I don’t know.” He said flatly.

“Well… maybe—” she was interrupted.

“And who the hell says I’ve defected?” He scoffed, the reality setting in.

“You sort of… saved me?” She asked, unsure of what his intention even was.

“And you killed my aunt.” He returned, as if that settled the matter.

“I suppose you’re right, they could easily take you back and you could just tell them I killed her.” She was lost in thought, and the air began to grow oddly tense.

“Will you?” She asked.

“Will I what, Granger?” He was at wit’s end, finally looking up at her with utter annoyance painting his features.

She looked saddened with a tinge of worried.

“Will you rejoin the Deatheaters?” She nearly whispered it. He had to squint to hear the meaning behind her words.

Perhaps his expression softened.

“I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go, now, do I?” His gaze returned to the floor.

“Come with me, Malfoy! It’s obvious you’ve turned over a new leaf, and just think of the intel you could give us to help overthrow the Dark Lord!” She was exuberant with her suggestion. When he looked up, the sunlight was beginning to glow about her poofy hair in a halo-effect. But her eyes glowed from within.

He was a bit hypnotized by her optimism.

“I guess…” He began, wringing his hands.

“And not to mention that we wouldn’t make you torture anyone!” She added with a stern nod, leaning forward in hopes of appealing to his better sense.

“My parents will be punished.” He finally nodded, ending the discussion.

But then the discussion began again.

“Why? For all He knows, you’ve been captured or even killed! Why would he punish your parents for—”

He stood up for effect “Because I’m a bloody failure, Granger. I couldn’t kill Dumbledore. I couldn’t kill you. I can’t even kill myself because I’m such a coward. My parents are punished because I’m their blood, and my failures are theirs.”

She let him finish, before lowering her gaze to her lap.

Silence wore on.

“Can I say something?”

He scoffed, waving his hand for her to go on.

“You didn’t fail at healing me. The Order could use someone like that…” She shrugged, as if to say ‘no pressure’.

With a dismissive nod, he looked out the window nearby and finished the last bit of the whiskey in his glass.

“You should get back to them, Granger.” He suggests, eyeing the glass in his hand, coated in her dried blood.

“We can’t just… go back to being enemies, Malfoy.” She sounded angry. He turned to look at her. She looked angry too.

“Sure we can, Granger.” His expression was almost that of resignation.

She furrowed her brow in a manner that he’d seen before but felt wholly different about now. She was talking, “Malfoy, things have changed between us. You’re no Deatheater. Look at you. You dragged me out of battle, into safety, and healed me. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

His brow raised and he felt an itch on his ego at what she was hinting. “Not sure, Granger. Why… Does it mean something to you?” He smirked slightly.

With a slight shock, she shrugged, “well, yes. As a matter of fact it does!” She crossed her arms and sat back on her feet atop the bed.

“And what does it mean to you?” His head tilted as he teased her.

All he wanted was a ‘thank you’, right? All he wanted was validation that he did a good thing. All he wanted was the Good Granger to redeem him.

“It means—well it means that you’re not all bad, Malfoy. It means that you can do more than torture people and it means that I could use someone like you on my side! The Order needs more powerful wizards, and you’re it.” She huffed out, standing up in front of him.

“So, why not join us?” She asked, holding out a hand to shake.

He looked at her hand. If only she had just thanked him, and told him how good he was…

“Consider this a cease-fire, Granger.” He walked past her, and out the door.

Months went by without a word from the other side. Not as if she expected him to risk his position by reaching out to her—an enemy.

A few encounters occurred without incident. It seemed that everyone was keen on keeping the other at arm’s length.

But the war couldn’t last too long, not like this. They needed to find, and destroy, more of the soul fragments, or who knows how much hidden damage would be done.

It was only a few weeks more, and disaster struck.

Hermione was waking up, groggily walking down the stairs of the burrow to find tea, when a horrible commotion was heard in the lower levels.

Fully awake now, she sought the noise to find a full-on interrogation going on in a side room.

She couldn’t enter, but saw through the glass a blonde man seated, forced Veritiserum, and questioned, before the curtains were drawn.

Stumbling back in the kitchen, rather dumbfounded, she sat down to wait.

“Morning, Hermione! tea?” Molly Weasley offered, bustling about as usual.

“What’s going on in there? Is that Lucius?” Hermione questioned.

“Oh, well, no. Lucius fell in battle last night—that’s Draco.” Molly began pouring tea for Hermione anyway.

Hermione drank tea absent-mindedly, looking toward the door.

She’d never told anyone what happened between her and Draco, and now there was a tugging guilt in her stomach.

“Why are they questioning him, exactly?” She pried.

“Well, he’s a Deatheater, of course. We need information on any future attacks, dear.” Molly looked confused.

“I see,” Hermione conceded, drinking her tea silently.

“I do wish they wouldn’t be so pressing on the boy. He’s your age, and after just losing his parents, he’s already in such a state.” Molly shook her head sadly, cleaning a bit of her apron.

“Both of his parents?” Hermione was a bit wide-eyed.

“Yes. Deatheater he may be, but a mother pities an orphan.” She explained.

Hermione almost stood up. “How did they manage to capture him?” She asked.

“I believe they just got lucky? He was just sat at the front stops of the place after the battle. Everyone else had run off. He was injured, all I can think.” Molly stood to prepare a bit of food.

“I need to talk to them,” She insisted, standing to approach the door.

“Dear, they won’t let you in right now. Best wait until they’ve finished questioning. Shouldn’t be that much longer, he seemed quite cooperative.”

Hermione tapped her fingers on the worn wood of the table for a long while, watching the clock.

The interrogation began to calm, from what she could tell. Silence fell in the half-empty house.

Had Harry or Ron been there, she’d be trying to explain the whole thing to them then and there.

Instead, she waited.

She waited until the elders of the Order left the room, and walked up to Arthur.

“Hello Hermione, mind if I get a cuppa?” He attempted to step past her. But she pressed. “I’d like to talk to him, Arthur.”

He was rather confused, but nodded. “I don’t see why not, he’s downright amiable at this point.” Arthur opened the door for her and she stepped in. As the door shut, the wards locked the door in place.

Exhausted, and a bit bloodied, he sat in the chair silently.

Once she came into view, he perked up a bit.

“Malfoy, are you okay?” She sat in front of him, leaning on the table.

“I wish I were dead.” He answered quite frankly.

“I’m sorry. I heard the news.” She was thinking of her own parents, tears staved off for later, when she was alone. But that wasn’t his plan.

He sat stoically for a moment, but with a slight movement, he crumpled forward toward the table and heaved out a ragged sob.

“It wasn’t even my fault… I can’t even blame myself… I can’t even say that I failed!” He shouted at the table.

“What do you mean?” She was startled, trying to understand.

“He killed them both during the battle. He decided to use my mother as bait, and my father was just killed to make an example.” Draco was slowly calming as he rode the waves of the truth serum.

“Nobody has even given me a chance to fail, and now, in spite of my best efforts to be invisible, they’re both dead.” He leaned further forward, and rested his forehead on the table. He found an odd comfort in this. Though it didn’t fully quell his sobs.

Compelled by this moving admission, she gently rested her hand on the crown of his head and gently pet him from across the table.

Neither moved from that position for several silent minutes.

Then the door opened, and she removed her hand to avoid questions.

“It’s time to take him to his room.” Arthur stated, motioning to Draco.

“I thought you were holding him for questioning?” Hermione asked.

“Hasn’t he told you?” Arthur raised a brow.

“He’s decided to join us, Hermione.” Arthur pat the bound wizard on the shoulder.

Draco looked over Hermione, looking utterly drained.

As she escorted him to his secured room, she stood in the doorway, unlocking his bound hands.

“I’d hoped it would have been on better terms.” She said.

“Well, I have nothing to lose, now.” He said hoarsely.

“That’s just it, I’m sorry for that, Malfoy. You’re a good man, and I’m sorry for your loss.” She offered kindly before turning from him.

And awful wave hit is ego, and he felt blood rush to his face. Turning to the room, his new home apparently, he smiled a hidden smile, “Thanks, Granger.”

“Welcome aboard—Draco.” She shut the door behind her with a silent lock.

 


End file.
